


If You Say Run (I'll Run With You)

by alittlelove



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 1d's last performance before the hiatus, Angst, Arguing, Basically when Harry wore that majestic red flowery suit, Boys In Love, Canon Compliant, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Emotions, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Making Up, Mentions of Babygate, No Smut, Smoking, That's all they are when it comes down to it really, There are other characters but they're VERY brief, X-Factor, cheesier than i intended, non-au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-11-15 05:51:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11224659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alittlelove/pseuds/alittlelove
Summary: In regards to Louis’ smoking habit, Harry’s not too psyched. He blames his Motherly instinct to protect Louis from anything that could possibly be detrimental to his health for that. He doesn’t want Louis to sound like he’s just swallowed a razor when One Direction returns from hiatus and he thinks his opinion is plausible, and just, fuck whatever Louis tells him.Or, an interpretation of what happened behind the scenes of One Direction's final performance before the hiatus.





	If You Say Run (I'll Run With You)

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote a little prompt for this a while ago, and this ~blossomed~ from it.  
> Brit/Aussie spelling is used for words like "colour" and "favourite".
> 
> Title from Let's Dance by the always iconic Bowie.
> 
> Enjoy!

Where Louis goes, Harry follows.

It shouldn't come as a surprise anymore. It shouldn't have been a surprise when they were young, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, straight out of the X-factor without a clue on what they were doing, as Harry trailed behind Louis, crawling into his bunk behind him and keeping him close. It shouldn't have come as a surprise when things were hitting them harder than ever, when headlines like  _Harry Styles Sleeps with 400 Women a Year_ and  _Louis Tomlinson and Eleanor Calder Enjoy a Romantic Fro-Yo Date_ actually existed (and were considered as news), and Harry had followed Louis to meetings, dinners with Simon and Magee and Griffiths and gripped Louis' hand under the table so hard he almost cut off the blood circulation to his fingers. It shouldn't have come as a surprise in the good times, too, especially after they'd won three AMAs and Louis had looked good enough to  _devour_ in that turtleneck and Harry'd followed behind him, stumbling, into their hotel room, with an insistent arm on Louis' lower back and a rabbiting heartbeat.

So, logically, it  _shouldn't_ come as a surprise when Harry's following –no,  _chasing_ \- Louis through the X-factor studios following their last performance before the hiatus. Everyone's here- their families, their siblings and their friends, and Harry wants nothing more than to gather them all up into a big  _Iloveyouthankyouforbeinghere_ bear hug. But. Louis' attempts to vandalize the whole studio are more important. Louis is his priority and always will be.

"Love?" he calls out, slowing to a jog, he shouldn't have even been  _running_ in the first place because his suit is  _expensive_ , and he actually quite likes the pattern, so he tries to piss Louis off with, "wherefore art thou, Romeo?"

"Fuck off," he hears from a room down the corridor. One of Harry's favourite things to occasionally do is quote _Romeo and Juliet_ in the presence of Louis just so he can see his face scrunch up in a little disgruntled pout, similar to that of a ragdoll kitten. He finds Louis with that exact pout on his face as he’s rummaging around Nick's dressing room, presumably finding something to fuck up.

"Heeey, babe," Harry saunters over to him and wraps his arms tightly around Louis' waist from behind as he tries to squirm out of his grip, but Harry  _knows_ that Louis must know he's losing the battle, as he sinks back into Harry's chest with a sigh, his quiff flopping over his face.

"I want to cut holes in the crotches of all of Nick's jeans, but there's no scissors," Louis frowns up at him.

"And what did Nick do to deserve that?"

"Spend time with you, I dunno," Louis turns in Harry's arms, his hand rising to card through the hair on the side of Harry's head. Harry leans into the touch all the while nudging their noses together softly.

"We really should find you some scissors, then," Harry hums, non-committal, his eyes slipping shut and his lips joining with Louis'. It's a chaste, sweet kiss, not all-too-different to how they'd kissed in the warmth of their bed that morning. His hands come to refuge on Louis' shoulders, massaging them as he hums into the warm heat of Louis' mouth.

Louis' foot is snaking around the back of his calf when "You absolute  _tossers,"_ is yelled in their direction. Harry pulls away with an annoyed huff, facing Nick and Lou standing not too far behind him. Lou looks disappointed at the state of Louis and Harry's hair. Harry can't bring himself to feel sorry.

"What a," Louis started, hiccoughing slightly. "coincidence! Lovely to see you both. Best be off!"

Harry's eyes are fixated on Louis' bum in his trousers as he toddles away, pausing to say, "thanks for the accommodation!" and sprinting off. Harry blinks.

"How do even keep up with him, Hazzabear?" Lou asks him seconds later, into the silence.

"We balance each other out, I guess," Harry shrugs. He gets it. He  _knows_ he's more slow, and quiet, he  _knows_ Louis is fast, and loud, loud, loud. He knows that's how he and Louis are to most people. It's just. Different, between them, when they're alone and there’s no crew or anyone there to halt them. He's seen Louis' quiet, thoughtful side more than he ought to admit and he's content that he gets to keep that version of Louis to himself.

Lou and Nick don't respond to him, they just manoeuvre their way into the room as Harry brushes past them, his flowery red trousers swishing against his legs. He can't wait for Louis to strip them off later. With his teeth, if Harry's lucky.

"Why'd you two come in here, anyways?" Nick says from behind him.

Harry shrugs, grinning unabashedly. "Dunno, just followed him here," he licks his lips and ducks his head as a cue to leave, then walks out in the same direction Louis had.

Where he eventually finds his boyfriend really shouldn'tbe surprising, but it  _is_ , and he feels a sharp jab to the chest just looking at them. They're near the backstage area; Louis, Jay, and Simon, the latter animatedly gesturing with his hands and a prominent wrinkle in his forehead. Louis' standing there, the absolute professional he is, his I'm Talking to Simon Posture at play, his hands clasped together and his lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes to the floor. His Mum looks like she's trying hard to understand whatever Simon's saying (which mustn't be good, could never be), but her gaze keeps faltering and her eyes are sunken and sad. Harry doesn't know if looking at Jay or Louis breaks his heart more.

See, Simon and Louis make plans. Or, Simon makes plans and Louis obliges. Harry  _would_ be in his position, he would carry the burden in an instant, and he doesn't really know any reasons why Louis takes all the heat except for the fact that he knows Louis loves him with a force too strong to explain.

They're making plans for the hiatus. Simon wants Louis' 'Daddy Cool' image to be a thing. Once the baby is born, in the not-far-away-future, Simon wants it to be publicised. He wants it to be A Big Thing for Louis' image. He wants Briana to get papped, he wants people to believe that Louis is straight, and has a child, and *totally* isn't in a long-term, committed relationship already. Harry wants to cry and he also wants to punch Simon and he also wants to protect Louis from everything everyone's throwing at him because  _the others aren't doing this,_ himself and Niall and Liam are getting a real break to do whatever they please, and Louis' still stuck in the same cycle he has been for years now and Harry's heart  _hurts._

He approaches them, because Simon's expression is appearing more and more comical by the second, and Louis is looking more guarded and defensive, and Harry  _needs_ him. And, Jay's got a hand rubbing up and down Louis' back comfortingly, setting Harry’s nerves on edge. He steps up, in between Louis and Simon, knowing he's set off an awkward air and he's interrupted something  _heavy_ , but he doesn't give a fuck, could only really give a fuck about Louis and Jay's happiness at the moment, so he smiles warmly and curls his hand around Louis' waist, under his blazer.

"Harry, great performance tonight," Simon's features are tight. He needs someone to rub his feet or something. It's a strategy that's worked with Louis' stress for the better part of five years now.

"Thanks, we had a good time," he squeezes Louis' hip, looking pointedly at Simon, trying to say  _you big bastard don't come near my boy again_ with his eyes. He thinks it's working, telling by the retired look on Simon's face.

"Have the girls had a good night?" Harry directs his question at Jay, then, reaching past Louis to squeeze her shoulder. She really looks beautiful tonight, her hair done all nice and her complexion glowing under the lights. To be fair, Louis also looks quite devour-able. Those damn Tomlinson genes.

Jay lights up. "they had a blast! They're teetering around here somewhere; they'd love to catch up with you boys."

Harry's fast wondering if this is a cue to find the girls, make the rounds, and go home. As much as he'd like to spend a night with Jay, the Bake-off and a plentiful surplus of chardonnay, One Direction just had their last performance for a while and Harry just wants to curl up with his boy. His boy who is looking  _very_ agitated and making Harry  _very_ worried.

"Let's find them, hey?" Harry redirects his attention to Louis, giving Jay's shoulder a last squeeze before pulling Louis into him, aligning their sides together. Louis' pliant and warm against him, his gaze on the floor.

"Yeah," Louis nods at them, or Simon, feebly.

As Harry's about to back the fuck up and leave the tense air he'd created in the first place, Simon stops him. "Thanks for coming."

"Thanks for having us." It's not a lie. Coming back to the X-Factor dons a nice kind of nostalgia onto Harry, reminding him of when times were easier for all of them. Performing on that stage only reminds him of  _then._

Louis takes the reins, then, pecking his Mum on the cheek, slipping his hand into Harry’s and pulling him towards the exit. _Away_ from where they needed to be at that moment. Harry’s about to yank him back, pull him towards the mass of people who came to see them because they _need_ to be polite-

“S’okay if I have a quick smoke, babe?” Louis looks like a doll, wide eyed and staring a hole through Harry’s face: sufficiently rendering him useless.

Harry notes, offhandedly, that one of Louis’ greatest talents is forcing Harry into forgetting all previous trains of thought that had any trace of rationality whatsoever.

He nods, bringing up his right hand to where his and Louis’ hands are joined so that he’s holding Louis’ hand with both of his, lightly caressing his palm. “Yeah, course.”

A minute later, they’re out the back of the studios so the paps can’t find them, shivering in the cold under a cobwebbed lamp. Harry blows on his hands to warm them as Louis pulls his pack of cigarettes and a blue lighter out of his inner blazer pocket roughly.

In regards to Louis’ smoking habit, Harry’s not too psyched. He blames his Motherly instinct to protect Louis from anything that could possibly be detrimental to his health for that. He doesn’t want Louis to sound like he’s just swallowed a razor when One Direction returns from hiatus and he thinks his opinion is plausible, and just, fuck whatever Louis tells him.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

Exhibit A.

Harry reaches out to him as he brings the fag to his lips, running his fingertip’s down Louis’ sleeve experimentally. He likes the material of the navy blazer Louis’ wearing. Knowing Louis, he’ll keep it in the washing basket only for Harry to drag it up a week later and mournfully send it to the dry cleaners. He can’t really think straight about laundry, though, when Louis’ looking at him with glassy eyes and looking like he could break any second from now.

“Sorry,” Harry says quietly, “you okay?” Sue him for asking, he’s concerned.

Louis exhales a big puff of smoke right into Harry’s space. Harry wrinkles his nose. “I’ll be okay,” Louis tells him, then smiles, like what he’s just said hasn’t made Harry three-hundred times more wired up than he already was.

“What did he tell you?” Harry presses. Louis should _know_ by now Harry won’t take anything half-arsed.

“Who, Simon?”

“Who else could say anything to you that- that makes me feel like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff, and… the whole view down is clouded with fog, so I don’t know if it’s safe to jump or not?” Songwriting really has instilled many different language techniques and similes into their vocabularies, and Harry feels a little proud inside of his ability to use them in real life and not be in a struggle to voice his thoughts. He’s also lucky that Louis understands him, nearly more than Harry understands himself.

Times like this are times where Harry questions his luck.

Louis’ stare is hard and piercing when he replies, “you shouldn’t feel like that. It’s not even your problem, what we talk about.”

Not even his- holy _shit,_ if Harry was worried before, now he’s just mad. He shakes his head in disbelief, staring at Louis like he’s grown two heads. _It’s not even your problem what we talk about._ “You are unbelievable.”

“I’m being reasonable,” Louis shoots back instantly, his eyes guarded. He’s not being Harry’s Louis; he’s being defensive, and Harry will match his level of defiance undoubtedly, because they’re as both stubborn as can be. “Simon talks to me about what I’m doing on the hiatus, stunting. Then he talks to _you_ about what you’re doing: signing with a different label, and- getting… closer to the finish line, so to say. What Simon talks to you about is your business, and what he talks to me about is mine.”

Harry watches with narrowed eyes as Louis shrugs and takes a drag of his cigarette. Un-be-liev-a-ble. Sure, it’s Louis’ business what Simon talks to him about, but it’s also Harry’s business because he _cares_ about Louis and they’re in a _relationship_ , for God’s sake. And Louis’ using something they’re _both_ ecstatic about, Harry’s new ventures, against him and that is _not okay._ “Do you seriously think I _want_ you to face this shit alone, Louis?”

“I’m not facing it alone, I have Oli, and Ann Marie’s baby on the way,” Louis smiles up at him coyly, making Harry’s blood boil. _And you, Harry, you’ve always been facing it with me, all of it,_ Louis doesn’t add.

“Fucking hell,” he breathes, his eyes darting up to the starless sky. He’s wishing for someone, anyone, to come bursting through the door and force them to look couple-y again. Harry longs to be couple-y with Louis, even when he’s a complete dick.

“Why are you acting like a dick?” Harry deadpans. He can’t play around anymore, and at this point he just wants to go home.

Louis obviously doesn’t listen to him. “You shouldn’t let me rain on your parade, Harry! I’m stuck doing the same old shit but _worse_ and you’re moving on, and you deserve to enjoy it, and not have my problems weighing you down- I just- I don’t need you to worry about me,” he’s pleading now, his blue eyes unguarded and open, looking at Harry like he’s depending on the insistency of Harry’s gaze. Harry’s almost silently celebrating victory over Louis’ honesty.

His mind and heart are rabbiting, beating hard and fast in his ears so he can’t hear his own internal protests when he eases the lighter and pack of fags from Louis’ loose grip. Louis’ still staring at him, his expression’s just got a frantic edge to it now, but Harry doesn’t care. He never believed in the power of tobacco but now he’s in need of _something_ to stop feeling so guilty.

“Haz,” Louis whispers at him feebly, a wisp of hair from his quiff falling into his eyes. _Beautiful_ is what comes to Harry’s mind as he lights the cigarette, tucking the lighter and pack into Louis’ pocket gently afterwards.

It’s seconds later when Harry’s sharply inhaling on the cigarette, staring straight into Louis’ eyes when the smoke gets caught in his throat and he’s coughing up a storm, caught out of the angered trance he was in.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he hears Louis breathe in front of him, stealing the cigarette from his fingers and crushing it on the gravel with his dress shoe. “You’re scaring me, babe.”

Forget being snapped out of an angry trance, Louis _can’t_ just say Harry has no right to worry about him then go around being hypocritical and worry about him. It’s just not on. “Thanks for looking out for me, _babe,_ ” he almost spits.

Louis’ hurt expression satisfies Harry, even though he knows it shouldn’t. “Hey there, tiger,” Louis’ hands move to rest against the sides of Harry’s biceps, keeping him somewhat grounded. “I think it’s time we went home.”

“No,” Harry shoots back. “We can’t go home until you realise that I have every right to feel scared, hurt and horrible for you. I’m your boyfriend, for fuck’s sake!” he’s getting into it now, he knows he must be quite a sight to see because his vision is going blurry and his hands are in his own hair, involuntarily fucking it up. “You can’t –ever- say that it’s not my business, because this stunting is really just to hide that you are with _me_! You have to know that whatever you’re planning with Simon is _my_ business too because- cause I love you, and I care about you. I need you to get that we’re in this _together_ , and there’s nothing you can do about it! I’d never leave you to deal with that alone, _ever._ ”

He’s deflated, chest heaving, arms limp against his sides, his eyes flickering all over Louis’ face, desperate to be granted his understanding. He adds, quietly, “I’m yours.”

He’s not feeling bubbling anger bursting from his pores anymore. He feels raw and open like he’s just pulled open a huge wound. Himself and Louis don’t talk about things like this often, because it usually ends up in an argument, but this is _good,_ because everything is laid out on the table now.

It’s also good because he realizes again how real their relationship is, how hard it gets, but that Louis is fundamentally _his_ as a lover. How lucky he is to have him like he does, when he’s always moving, loud and about. Louis’ looking up at him under damp eyelashes and his lips parted, his gaze unwavering.

“I,” Louis’ voice is rough when he starts, like it is in the mornings and dear Lord Harry wants it to be morning already, partially because a new day is like a clean slate, a blank canvas, and partially because Harry’s back is against a hard wall and he’d like it to be laying on their nice soft mattress. Going home isn’t such a bad idea, now.

“I just want you to be happy,” Louis says earnestly, and Harry believes him. “I didn’t mean to be a dick before, I felt mad at Simon and I took it out on you and I’m really- I’m just sorry.”

Harry’s rendered useless yet again, feeling like his insides have melted against the dirty gravel wall and gathered into Louis’ heart. Somehow. His whole being kind of rushes with overwhelming relief, chanting _it’s okay it’s okay it’s okay it’s okay it’s okay it’s o-_

“C’mere.”

Suddenly Louis’ dragging him by his sleeve down the side of the studios, and by now it should be guaranteed not a surprise when Harry’s blindingly following him. There’s no lamps or lights- it’s pitch black, but Louis seems to know where he’s going. The footsteps Harry’s taking don’t seem too foreign either. He’s flashed back to years ago, when they were confused and awkward and maybe a little in love, taking these same footsteps.

He giggles (a little) at the realization, biting on his bottom lip and crowding Louis against the plaster wall. The cold is biting at their skin, must be twinging at Louis’ forearms, because his sleeves are rolled up (in a very cute way, must Harry admit). His hands find refuge under Louis’ jacket and t-shirt, warming up against the hot skin of Louis’ waist. He feels a pair of dainty hands smooth across the thin fabric of his dress shirt, over his pecs. He’s smiling properly now, and he knows Louis is too when he leans down to kiss him, because they’re basically just clashing teeth, but it’s one of the realest things Harry has ever felt and it’s fucking incredible.

They end up kissing for a good ten minutes, not escalating their kisses into anything heated, and as Harry pulls Louis close by the neck and licks into his mouth he knows he’s made it.

“Can’t believe… we’re kissing down the side of the X-Factor studios,” he breathes when they’ve slightly pulled away, his forehead pressed to Louis’ and his eyes shut in content.

Louis pecks him on the lips again, like he couldn’t resist. “Wouldn’t be the first time, hey?”

Harry can’t do much more than let out an _mmph_ against Louis’ mouth and pull him closer.

Much to their dismay, fifteen minutes later, they’re interrupted by a text vibrating in Harry’s pocket from Sabine, their ride home.

**_I’m out front, there’s a bunch of paps!! come one after another 5ish minutes apart because I think PR wants to photog!!_ **

“Bad, bad Sabine and her nasty high expectations,” Louis almost growls, his head laying on Harry’s shoulder and his eyes darting over the screen of Harry’s phone. “Who’s first?”

Harry goes to his home screen, looking at the screensaver picture of Louis pulling a face at him while attempting to cook in their LA house on a day off, a chef’s hat askew on his head and his fringe fluffy over his eyes. His eyes linger for a second then he shuts it off, letting the screen go black and shoving the phone in his pocket. “We should really say goodbye to everyone.”

They really should. So many of their friends came _just for them_ and Harry’s so, so thankful and he knows Louis is too, but he knows they can send flowers and visit for lunch and he really just wants to get home. Louis seems to get his drift, because he whispers back, “we can make up for it later.”

 

Harry ends up getting in the car first, after bidding speedy farewells to Niall, Liam, Robin and his Mum. He makes small talk with Sabine, asking her about her day and whatnot. Cold, cutting wind gusts into the vehicle a short time later, the door swinging open to reveal Louis, in all his glory, sliding down the car seat to greet Harry and Sabine cheerfully. Harry mentally sends thanks to whoever invented tinted windows.

“I saw the girls and Ernie just before,” Louis’ face is positively glowing as he raves about Niall’s mum, his Mum, his sisters and their last (but not least!) performance to Sabine, and Harry can do nothing but watch him in a trance of awe-struck love.  

 

 

They eventually reach their home, pressing a tip into Sabine’s small hand and stumbling out of the SUV. It’s old news now, as Harry follows Louis up their front steps, follows Louis through the foyer, and the kitchen, and the hallway. He watches Louis shed his blazer and dump it in the laundry pile (just as Harry’d predicted), and he follows behind him into their bedroom, shedding his own jacket along the way.

After they’d brushed their teeth and cleaned up, Louis comments idly, “I like that, you know,” pointing at the floral patterned garment hanging from a velvety armchair in the corner of their room as Harry’s undoing the buttons of the black dress shirt he’s wearing. “It doesn’t look like a curtain, in comparison to the one you wore at the AMA’s.”

“I’m taking offense to that.”

“Sorry, babe,” Louis laughs breathily, stepping into their unmade bed in a white t-shirt and black boxers. Careful as ever, Harry hangs the matching pants to his jacket along the back of the armchair ready to be taken to the dry cleaners and follows Louis’ lead into their welcoming bed. “y’know… I’m glad we had a little angst-fest tonight.”

Harry perks up, one knee on the bed and his hands moving to pull his hair into a bun. “Why’s that?”

“I dunno,” Louis looks so vulnerable, so sweet this time of night, his skin tender and eyes sleepy. “Things are... clearer.”

“I agree.”

 

It’s no more than ten minutes later when Harry’s back is aligned with Louis’ chest, his fingers tracing patterns on the skull tattoo on Louis’ wrist. Louis’ sleeping, breathing little puffs of air into his ear, and Harry’s more than happy to follow him to the world of sleep as his eyes shut, a smile on his lips.

And by now, it _certainly_ shouldn’t be a surprise.

**Author's Note:**

> I welcome all constructive feedback with open arms. Also good news, I'm going to see H on both of his tours, in Auckland then Brisbane! 
> 
> Twitter is rllyruby and tumblr is slaychords


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